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Spyridon watched his cousin with new interest. What were the chances they would meet like so? He shook his head in disbelief mirroring Silas and then went to work again on his fur. Feeling the other wolves’ eyes on him, the Russian stiffened slightly. His tail flicked in an amused motion as Silas, an excited note making his voice high, told the Russo about more family. It was an interesting feeling, going from abandoned to a reunion. But the darkest of thoughts came like a storm cloud.
“Here is my uncle?”
Spyridon asked more to himself, as if confirming the thought. Looking into the eyes of his cousin, despair crumpled his expression and he looked back down, amethyst irises staring at nothing.
“Mum wanted me not. Left me she did, quickly. Odd it is suddenly to find family. Mum didn’t want me if then won’t others not.”
His face was struck with anger and confusion, but the invitation still lingered. He already felt close to his cousin, which was just established. And he did say there were others. But the unwanted feeling darkened a side of his heart. Perhaps he would stay; him and his red prancer.
As if summoned by thought, Primrose appeared like a ghost atop a chair away from the one where Silas sat. Spyridon preferred to stand for his pelt was still layered in mud.
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